Season’s Past
My first conscious thoughts and emotions of a season’s passing remain with me to this day. When Spring arrives, I miss the dark, cozy days of thick sweaters, bowls of strengthening soup, and the warmth and crackle of a well-built fire. After Spring has flaunted itself, I miss the smell of the warming sun on damp earth, the eye-burning brightness in the green of young shoots against freshly turned soil, and the excitement of first leaves and buds that express promise without commitment.
The slap of carefree summer still burns when I stumble into fall. I miss the brittle smell of dried grass, and the parched feel of the sun on my skin when its bold golden rays burn bright enough to scorch the day deep into evening. I remember weeping at a wilted plant full of its fruit, roots ravaged in the path of a ravenous rodent and mourn the loss of its potential. And then fall comes in a snap. One day the breeze is warm with a cool edge, then suddenly it flips to one whose core is bright with chill. A disgruntled acknowledgement that change is in the air.
Perhaps I long for the Fall the most. Fall is the season of dotted i’s and crossed t’s. It’s a time to capture the fruits of our long labor and preserve them for the coming seasons when we’ve long forgotten about our sickness from eating an abundance of sweet corn, riots of tomatoes, bushels of green beans, and tons and tons of eggplant and summer squash.
Preservation is key for those of us who work on Wilding farm. We use what we can freshly harvested, but everything else is preserved for the next season or the season thereafter until the new season comes around to start the cycle of planting, growing, harvesting and preserving.
By Fall’s end, we are thankful to have safely tucked away the toils and tears of the garden to add our winter stews, top toast from a freshly baked loaf or provide a pickled brightness to warm pressed sandwiches, sausages, and cheese.
Preserved tomatoes, whether done yourself or from a careful maker who captures their sunny sweetness in a jar, always take me back to summer. When I think of that sweetness, balanced by a pluck of acidity, my mind wanders as to what I would match with their sunny boldness and it settles on our Pinot Blanc. Its freshness is like a bright spritz of lemon, backed with a little green melon and apple. Flavors that marry well with tomatoes. Add a little punch to the tomatoes with a slip of vinegary white anchovy and the grounding of freshly toasted bread, and you’re well on your way to a perfect starter for a merry evening.
The passing of the seasons is inevitable, but I evoke them every time I break into the store of what we’ve preserved. That makes me mourn their passing a little less and comfort me until they come ‘round again.
Until the next wine… Maria
EAT: White Anchovy Toast with Preserved Tomato Frito Vinaigrette
